Caught in the Rain
by history lady 24
Summary: A one shot set during Season One just after the count, in which Tom and Sybil end up spending some private time together rather serendipitously thanks to a thunderstorm. Very sweet in tone...somewhat similar to A Moment in the Library. A nice quite moment before the release of 3.4 tomorrow!


_Several of us who are Sybil/Tom shippers have enjoyed creating little places around the Downton Estate for Sybil and Tom to meet over the years during their courtship. I've created a little shed for this one, that is a bit larger then the one in which Thomas hid Isis during the Christmas Special last year. It includes a window, though I imagine it being rather dark and rather intimate during a cracking thunderstorm. _

_This piece is set during the first season, not too long after the Count at Ripon. I try to answer three questions that we all have with it – how did Sybil thank Tom for taking care of her that day, when did she start calling him Tom, and when did she start to think of Tom as someone who was a bite more than a friend. I know that my answers here are different than some of yours, but if nothing else, I hope they are plausible to you._

_For the moment, this is a one shot, though I do have some thoughts floating around my brain for other writing. I'm pretty sure, though, that will be under a different title. At the present I'm thinking about a little series called _Forbidden Pleasures_ about some of the _other_ things that Tom teaches Sybil about during his years at Downton. And there's also an idea for an American AU based one shot floating around in my brain, and then a modern AU…. And who even knows what 3.4 will bring! _

_So in other words, stick around! And thanks for reading!_

**Downton Abbey, Not too Many Days After the Count**

Sybil looked up worriedly. The sun that had been shining so brightly only twenty minutes before had most certainly disappeared, and the sky was darkening by the minute. _I should never have left the house_, she thought, only too aware of the fact that should the sky suddenly open up, she would be thoroughly soaked before she could make it back to Downton Abbey.

Looking around to make sure that no one was in the vicinity to see what she was doing, she grabbed her skirts and hiked them up, beginning to run towards the shelter of a small shed that she remembered as being just up ahead.

As she rounded the last bend on the path before the shed, her shoes beating out a steady tattoo on the gravel trail, a streak of lightening lit the now dark sky and all at once rain began to pour down on her.

"Bloody!" she cursed as she felt her clothing began to take on water. A moment later she stopped in front of the shed and began fumbling with the latch. Her hands were damp and cold, and they slipped from the wooden mechanism.

Yet the door swung open. Sybil looked up sharply into a pair of blue eyes.

"To - Branson!" Before her stood the family chauffeur, looking rather pleased. The expression on his face quickly darkened, though, as he saw her wet state.

"Come in, quick now. It's dry in here."

Backing up, Tom held the door open as Sybil stepped inside the dark shed.

"Thank you. I was out walking and thinking, in my own little world, I suppose, and suddenly I looked up and the sky was dark and the rain..." She smiled sheepishly, her eyes falling to her clothing, which was wet and clinging to her body rather tightly.

"And you found yourself caught in the storm and the shed was the closest shelter." Tom finished her sentence for her, trying his best to wrestle his eyes back to her face and away from her rather wet, suddenly obvious curves

Sybil, completely unaware of his thoughts and blushing face, which was hidden in the darkness, quickly noticed a significant difference between them. "You - you're dry!" She reached out a hand towards his uniform, as though to touch his coat, but stopped herself just short of it, suddenly embarrassed.

The sound of laughter bubbled from Tom's chest. "Aye. I was out too, but made it in just before the sky opened up. We must have been walking the same path, just a bit apart..."

Sybil smiled at him. "I suppose so." She paused for a moment and wrinkled her nose.

"Achoo!"

Her sneeze was surprisingly loud in the small area of the shed. Turning her head, she put one hand to her nose.

"Achoo!" Another came before she could stop it. Her eyes closed, she suddenly remembered her handkerchief. Dropping her other hand into her pocket, she pulled out a wet square of white linen.

"Here. Use mine, please." In the dark she saw Tom reach into his pocket and pull out a dry, neatly folded handkerchief.

"Thank you." She reached out to take it. She watched as her fingers, as though moving quite by their own will, grazed his palm slightly as she removed the object from his hand. She heard him breathe in at her touch.

As much as she wanted to let her eyes linger on his hand, still frozen open, fingers spread ever so slightly, her body did not cooperate.

"Achoo!" This time the sound was muffled slightly as she held Tom's handkerchief to her nose. The moment broken, he looked up and let his hand fall to his side. Embarrassed, Sybil turned slightly and tried to blow her nose as quietly as possible, only too aware that she was being closely watched. _Of all the unladylike noises to have to make in front of him..._

Tucking Tom's now dirty handkerchief in her pocket, Sybil turned back to him again. The sight that met her, though, was not one that she was expecting. He was standing before her in only his vest and shirtsleeves, his jacket before him, clutched tightly in his hands.

"Would you...Take this, please, milady. You must be cold, and it will keep you warm."

"Thank you." Sybil whispered the words, her eyes still focused on his chest.

Tom had expected her to reach out for his coat herself, but when he offered it forward slightly and she didn't move, save for bringing her eyes up to his and lifting the corners of her mouth in a slight smile, Tom realized that he'd been given the permission he so wanted. Stepping forward, he filled the space between them quickly. Reaching out his arms on either side of her body as if to embrace her, he opened the coat behind her and settled it on her shoulders, slowly, gently.

The thick green wool of the coat was warm from his body still. She felt herself breathe out and relax into it, letting its warm envelope her. It smelled like him - or maybe that was just Tom, who was standing right in front of her still, his body mere inches from hers.

She opened her eyes and found him watching her closely. His mouth was just barely open, as though was wanted to say something. Neither spoke, though. Instead, Sybil found herself looking at his lips.

_I wonder how many girls he's kissed._

Her eyes closed again, though, when he brought his hands to rest on her shoulders through the jacket. They slid down her upper arms slowly, his touch firm through the jacket. She could see him rubbing them in her mind's eye, making circles in the green wool as he attempted to warm her. She felt a sound coming up from the back of her throat that she suspected might be a tiny moan, but caught herself just in time before it slipped out.

_He's good at taking care of me. _She thought about the last time that he'd touched her that way, when he had carried her after her fall at the count. _I wonder what he'd think if he knew about how I'd quizzed Cousin Matthew the next day, after the count, about who it was that carried me to safety. And how it pleased me that it him, and not Matthew, who bore me back to safety._

She opened her eyes again. "Thank you, Tom." She hesitated slightly. It was the first time she'd called him by his Christian name without correcting herself.

"You're welcome, milady."

Sybil felt his warm breath on her forehead as he spoke the words. He was that close to her - far closer than he should have been. She knew that what they were doing here, in the cold of the dark shed, was not something her family would approve of, but at that moment she did not care.

"No Tom, don't."

He froze instantly, his hands breaking contact with her arms. He took a step back from her.

Sybil looked up at him, panic in her eyes. _Sodding fool. Now you've gone and…_ Taking a deep breath, she tried to catch his eye so she could explain her meaning. "Tom, please, look at me," she pleaded softly. At her tone his head rose and hurt blue eyes met hers. "It's not – it's not that. That's not what I meant, at all. You can - please. Please...do." She paused, cursing herself for not knowing how to say what she her eyes to break the pain of his stare, she tried to soften her tone. "What I was going to say, what I meant was, when we're together, like this, please don't call me milady. I know you must in front of the others, but please, Tom. Call me Sybil. Try to think of me as just…. Sybil."

"Sybil." His voice echoed hers quickly. He stepped forward then again, his face a mixture of relief and something else that she couldn't quite read. What pleased her more than anything else, though, was that in a moment his hands were back at her arms, hovering for just a moment before he brought them back to rest of his jacket. Sybil found herself watching the gesture intently. This time, though, instead of rubbing her arms for warmth, he simply just squeezed them, and then let his hands rest there, the weight of his hands burning through his jacket and her blouse onto her skin.

They were still standing that way, a few moments later, when a loud crack of thunder made them both jump. Each moved back a little, the moment broken.

Sybil turned to the small window in the corner and watched as the rain poured down outside.

"I think it's raining even harder now than it was earlier, even." Suddenly nervous, Sybil tried to make idle conversation.

"It is." Tom's voice was low and even.

_Just a moment ago he was touching me, and now he's back to acting the proper servant and standing behind me at a respectful distance. Will I ever understand this? This, this…what's between us?_ _Whatever that is?_

Focusing on the window, Sybil's eyes landed on two raindrops that were slowly falling down the glass pane. They'd started at opposite corners of the small pane, but were now moving towards one another, their collision course set. Sybil watched spellbound as they finally met in the middle of the pane and continued their downward descent together, now one large drop speeding down towards the wooden casing.

"I know it was you, that day." The words tumbled out of Sybil's mouth completely unchecked. She turned to stare over her shoulder at Tom. "I know it was you who took care of me. That day…at the count. And now you've done it today again. I know it's not the same thing, of course, but….it just seems that whenever I'm in trouble, you always seem to be right there, to take care of me. Like some sort of Irish guardian angel, I suppose." She smiled and giggled at this, her laughter quickly joined by his. After a moment, though, her face returned to a more serious expression. "I don't quite know how or even why you do it, but I want you to know that I an indebted…grateful… obliged…"

She shook her head in frustration, struggling to find the proper words to convey both her thanks.

Tom's blue eyes smiled at her struggle to find the proper words.

Holding his gaze steady, she willed herself to have the courage to say what was on her heart.

"I just mean to tell you, Tom, that I….that I'm so thankful. For you. Being my friend, and always being there to help me, when I need you." She bobbed her head down bashfully and blushed. "Which seems to be rather often, as of late."

"Isn't that what friends do for one another?" Tom spoke the retort lightly. He hadn't expected to see her face fall slightly at the remark.

"I hardly know." Sybil's face turned slightly dark as she responded. "I've never had anyone, like that, who cared what happened to me, like you do." She paused, a question forming in her eye. "Sometimes I wonder why you do it."

"Do you?" Tom's eyebrow arched as he looked down at her face, her expression so innocent.

"Well?" She whispered it.

"I don't suppose….that I can give you a reason now, mi-"

"Ah!" Sybil cut him off and pointed a finger at him. "You promised!" A mischievous smile reappearing, she poked Tom lightly in the chest, her face reddening slightly as she felt his shirt underneath her finger, even for a brief moment.

Tom's childhood instincts, razored sharp by the many years he had spent with his brothers and sisters at home, teasing and tickling and poking one another, suddenly kicked in at that moment. Before he realized what he was doing, his hand reached up and snatched her finger and hand in his own. Sybil gasped at the action, and then giggled nervously, as did he. At first they looked simply at one other, and then both of their gazes dropped to their hands.

And in that moment in the shed there were no more words, but there were two smiles. One knowing, and the other in which that same secret knowledge was just beginning to dawn.


End file.
